


Believe

by coolbyrne



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Slibbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24172297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: Crop circles, alien abductions and a very pessimistic Gibbs. Slibbs
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 46
Kudos: 132





	Believe

**Author's Note:**

> Day 7 of Slibbs week; figured I'd end it with a nice long one! Just a little bit of fun- The prompt was "Free for all - write whatever you want!" I would love to see Jack and Gibbs in an X-File type episode!

Whatever was said in the elevator had made her laugh, because she stepped out of it with a smile that lit up the morning and it was so bright it even sketched a smile on _his_ face. They strode side by side, both with a coffee in hand, his professional mask beginning to slip into place as she made silent greetings to the three agents with a raised chin and grin. If she was surprised when he leaned in and kissed her cheek, she kept it well hidden in the soft, “Be safe,” she whispered against his ear. There was nothing more said or done and they parted, Jack making her way up the stairs and Gibbs striding to his desk. Bishop glanced at Nick and Tim to make sure they had seen it, too, and based on their open mouths, they had. Before one of them could gather the courage to put their findings into words, Gibbs unclipped his phone.

“Yeah?” A slight pause hovered over the receiver, then, “Text me the address.” The phone snapped shut and he unlocked his drawer. “Grab your gear,” he told the trio. “Petty Officer found in a field.” He was at the elevator ahead of the team and the job took precedence over any curiosity they had.

…..

That lasted as long as it took Gibbs to pull out of the Navy Yard, and he should’ve known when Bishop called shotgun to ride with him, cajoling Tim into riding with Torres. His two youngest agents were generally joined at the hip, and one volunteering to be separated from the other was a warning bell. Still, he wasn’t going to make it easy, even as her knee bounced in eager anticipation. If it hadn’t been something he knew involved his personal life, he would’ve given her credit for lasting so long.

“So, you and Jack.” His eyes stayed on the road, his fingers lazily curling around the steering wheel. “I mean, just wondering. You know, seeing you two in the office this morning.” Undeterred, she said, “Just blink if you two are a thing.”

He fought the smirk that threatened to answer every question she had. Pulling up to the lot roped off for uniforms, he threw the car into ‘park’ and turned off the ignition, feeling her stare burning into his profile. Slowly, he turned his head and held her gaze. Her eyes bored into his, looking for any sign, any twitch. The staring contest went on so long that Nick tapped on the passenger side window, making her jump. With her hand over her heart, she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Realizing her mistake, her eyes immediately flew open, but he was already opening the door. 

“Damn it!” she said as she unclipped her seat belt. “Did you see him blink?” she asked Torres once she was out of the car.

Nick frowned. “What?”

“Nevermind.” 

Gibbs was already two steps from Tim by the time Torres and Bishop caught up.

“Whatta we got, McGee?”

“LEO says the body was found about an hour ago by a local man walking his dog.” He looked over to where the witness was talking to a uniform. 

“Found him like this?”

“Yep.”

The team looked down at the naked man who looked up blankly into the sky. 

“Cause of death?” Gibbs asked, kneeling.

“Hard to say until Palmer gets here,” Tim said. “Nothing obvious.”

Gibbs pointed to the burns across the victim’s chest. “Except that. What are those?”

“Burn marks.” Torres said. “What?” he asked in reply to Bishop’s elbow. “He asked. They’re burns.”

“Find anything else?” he asked, ignoring the answer.

“Apparently he wasn’t the only one out here- a Freddie Blakemore was taken to the hospital with some minor burns of his own. Officer Tate over there said Freddie and the victim were pretty known around here.”

The phrasing caught Bishop’s attention. “Known for what?”

Tim’s mouth twitched. “You’re not gonna believe this.” He turned his phone to Bishop, who let out a laugh that she quickly muffled with her hand, but not before both Gibbs and Torres heard it.

Crowding in, Nick asked, “What? Porn star?”

“Better,” Bishop said. “Alien investigator.”

“You mean ‘nerd’,” Nick corrected.

Gibbs stood. “A what?”

“Alien investigator.”

“Nerd.”

Both Bishop and Torres spoke at the same time. Gibbs pointed at Bishop. “You.”

“Alien investigator, Gibbs. You know-” Her eyes went up to the sky as her finger circled overhead.

He rolled his eyes. “We got anything other than little green men?”

They all looked at each other, then Tim said, “Boss, if you give me a minute, I might have something.”

“Go.” To Bishop and Torres, he said, “Find out what hospital the friend was taken to. Get his story then meet us back at work.”

They nodded and passed McGee who was on his way back. “Don’t get abducted,” Nick stage-whispered.

“Very funny.” Returning to the body, he put down his drone and said, “Figured now’s a good a time as any to give this a try.”

Gibbs nodded with approval. “Do what you gotta do.”

It only took seconds for McGee to get the drone to lift, hover, then rise above them. Using his phone as a controller, he explained to Gibbs who had come in closer, “Deliliah gave this to me for Christmas. It’ll take a high definition video we can break down later into single images and print out.” It had been in the air for less than a minute when Tim’s head raised so fast, his neck cracked. “Boss? You’re not going to believe this.”

…..

“It’s a crop circle.” 

Bishop all but jumped in place. “You bet it is!” Seeing both Vance’s and Gibbs’ reaction, she toned hers down, clasping her hands behind her back to prevent herself from clapping.

“Yes, sir,” Tim said, his tone slightly more professional. Slightly.

Nick shook his head. “Told you it was nerds.”

The door opened and Jack poked her head into the office. “I heard something about aliens?”

Gibbs closed his eyes and prayed to a higher being for some patience. Vance fought his own amusement. “Jack, come over here and tell me what you see.”

She came to Gibbs’ side, giving a gentle touch on the arm that didn’t go unnoticed by Bishop. Bringing her glasses down from the top of her head, she peered at the photo which was a high overhead shot of the crime scene with Gibbs right in the middle. “I see a man outstanding in his field.”

Bishop tried to hide her snort at the pun; Nick didn’t bother. “I like that, Jack. A man out standing in his field.” 

Before Gibbs could retort, Jack said, “And a naked body in a crop circle.” Standing straight, she asked, “What do I win?”

“Nothing,” McGee informed her. “We all said it.”

“All of us except Gibbs,” Vance corrected. 

“Because it’s a murder victim; I don’t care if the Pope’s in the picture, unless you’re gonna tell me the Pope killed him. And you’re not tellin’ me aliens did it.” The room was silent in response. “You are _not_ tellin’ me that.”

The only one who didn’t seem to be caught up in the amusement or the possibility was Torres who assured Gibbs, “I know _I’m_ definitely not telling you that.”

Turning his attention to Nick was his way of showing his appreciation for being the single voice of reason. “So what _are_ ya tellin’ me?”

“Petty Officer Brady Phillips,” Tim interjected, quickly stepping back into professional mode. “Twenty-four years old, from Tulsa. Navy career cut short last year after they discovered an irregular heartbeat that somehow got overlooked when he joined. Family’s been notified by Tulsa LEOs. They’re on their way.”

“The friend, Freddie Blakemore, was treated for some light burns and what he said was ‘a memory loss’.” Nick’s expression told them all what he thought of the excuse.

“That’s convenient,” Jack said.

“Said he remembers being in the field at around 3am because they got a tip there was some unusual activity going on.” Torres flipped through his notes. “They got there, separately, and were just about to record what they found when, and I quote, ‘A ball of light shot out from the sky, and the next thing I know, I’m on the ground with these burns and Brady’s dead.’ The end.”

Gibbs tilted his head towards the door. “Torres, Bishop, have a chat with Phillips’ CO, see if he had any problems besides his heart.”

The duo left and Gibbs turned to McGee. “Find out what he did after leavin’ the Navy. Job, friends, ‘alien investigator’.”

“On it, Boss.”

Left alone with Leon and Jack, Gibbs looked at both of them and shook his head. Taking some sympathy on him -but not too much- Vance laughed.

“So if it’s not aliens, what is it?”

“Leon.”

Jack brushed her hand down Gibbs’ arm, a subconscious gesture that only Vance caught. “Whatever it is, at least we might have an idea about how he died.”

“The heart condition.”

She nodded at Gibbs. “Doesn’t explain the burns and the bruising, but would explain why there wasn’t an obvious cause of death.”

“See what Dr. Palmer’s found,” Leon suggested, and finding the matter settled, picked up the photo and handed it to Gibbs. “And let’s hope it’s not little green men.”

…..

“Did you know almost 40 percent of Americans believe we’ve been visited by extra-terrestrial beings?”

“You really want to start this conversation with that?”

Jimmy looked up from the body and came in direct contact with Gibbs’ glower. “No, probably not. Though that’s an incredibly high number, don’t you think?”

“Sixty percent of people can’t find Iraq on a map,” Gibbs countered, making it clear which stat he thought was more disappointing.

Jimmy frowned. “Are we just getting dumber or is the world getting bigger? Don’t answer that,” he quickly added. “Speaking of getting bigger, our victim here had an aortic aneurysm. Pretty rare in a man his age, but I’m betting it’s genetic. His aorta swelled to twice its normal size, and that swelling led to a rupture that led to him internally bleeding to death. It was fairly obvious the moment I opened him up.”

“And the burns?”

“Minor second-degree. Partial blistering of the dermis, but not enough to cause charring or visible damage beyond the swelling.”

“Before or after the rupture?”

“Impossible to tell.” Before his answer garnered him a rebuke, he added, “Did find some threads embedding in some of the blisters.”

Appeased by the information, Gibbs speculated, “Meaning he was burned with clothes on.”

“At least a shirt, yes. Kasie’s looking into it now.” He was saved from further Gibbsian judgment when a buzz came from Gibbs’ hip.

“Yeah,” he barked into the phone. “What? On my way.”

…..

“What’s the problem, McGee?”

He stood in front of Tim and a civilian with a visitor’s badge clipped to his T-shirt. McGee fought a grin.

“Uh, this is Ryan Morrison, Boss. He wants our protection.”

Gibbs arched an eyebrow. “Protection from what?”

“He won’t say anything else until Agent Torres comes back. Guess word got around in the alien community about the visit to Freddie Blakemore. He’ll only talk to Torres.”

Gibbs stepped in front of the 20-something who tried to hold the stare, but blinked when Gibbs feigned a twitch.

“Talk.” The command was simple, direct and uncompromising.

“I-I-I heard what happened to B-Brady and, and Frankie.”

“What’d you hear?”

He looked at Gibbs in disbelief. “Uh, duh. They were abducted.”

“‘Uh, duh’?” Gibbs repeated.

Immediately seeing his mistake, he backpedaled, “I mean, they were out in the middle of Derry’s Field, which has the highest concentration of unexplained sightings in the DC area. What else could’ve happened?”

Before Gibbs could react in a way that wasn’t going to end well, Tim shifted the conversation. “Why do you need protection?”

Out from under Gibbs’ scrutiny, he looked at Tim. “I’ve got the second most subscribers in the state. I’ve been tracking UFOs for over 2 years. Of course I’m next!”

McGee filled Gibbs in. “Petty Officer Phillips and Freddie Blakemore run -or should I say ‘ran’- a YouTube channel with over a million subscribers. Mr. Morrison here also runs a YouTube channel. He has 900,000 subscribers.”

“947,813,” he corrected. 

“About aliens.” Gibbs wasn’t looking for an answer, but Morrison didn’t catch the flatness in his voice.

“It’s more than aliens,” he protested. “It’s about how the government has been complicit for years in hiding the existence not only of extra-terrestrials, but of hundreds of other things they’ve kept from the public. Project Stargate. Blue Book.”

“Majestic 12,” Gibbs helpfully supplied, to the surprise of both Tim and Morrison. “I _do_ work for the government.” The reminder made Morrison went white. “Yeah. Maybe startin’ to rethink the idea?” Without waiting for a reply, he told Tim, “Take him to Interrogation. Let him sit until Agent Torres comes back. I need a coffee.”

As if summoned by his words and the weary hand that pinched the bridge of his nose, she came down the stairs, two cups in hand. 

“Looks like I’m just in time.” 

He dropped into his chair with a grunt. Leaning against his desk, she stretched out her legs and crossed her feet and pretended she didn’t notice his eyes trail all the way down and all the way up again. 

Finishing the visual lay of the land, he wrapped his fingers around the cup, but stopped it at his lips. “Your coffee or company coffee?”

Her expression opened up, offended. “Is company coffee really coffee?”

His hum in agreement and appreciation was cut short by the much needed drink. His eyes closed as he let the hot beverage recharge him. Blindly, his free hand lazily stretched out to graze his fingertips along her leg. She glanced around the room but found it clear enough to shift ever so slightly closer. A grin spread across his face. She was the overt tactile one of the two, but he was beginning to appreciate the rewards of her skin against his, and so was she.

“Bastard,” she whispered even as she was the one moving closer, allowing his hand to curl around her calf. The grin only grew. 

“Uh-huh.”

“So, alien abduction, huh?” She quickly stood, and her voice was loud enough to let him know they were about to have company, but to his surprise as much as her own, his fingers lingered along her skirt hem, giving it a possessive tug before he finally opened his eyes and sat up straight. 

“Talk to me, Nick.”

The duo arrived at the same time McGee returned. Only Ellie seemed to notice the slow withdrawal of Gibbs’ hand and she was more than happy to look at Nick to answer.

“Discharged a year ago for the heart condition, like his file said,” Nick began, “but- his CO said it was a win-win for everyone, because there had already been talk about giving Petty Officer Phillips an OTH discharge. For using a civilian camera to take photos of the ship and surrounding areas. He’d been warned for the same offense twice when he got caught the third time.”

“He wasn’t taking those pictures for the reasons the Navy thought,” Tim said. Walking over to the large monitor, he clicked it on. “Speaking to our friend Ryan confirmed what Brady Phillips has been doing since leaving the Navy. He and Freddie Blakemore ran a YouTube channel for the past year.”

“‘I Want 2 Believe’,” Bishop read. “Wow. How hard was it to get that name?”

Tim nodded with enthusiasm. “I know, right?” Faced with silence from the other 3 people around the monitor, he said, “Come on, guys. The X-Files? It was a poster Fox Mulder had in his office. I can’t believe you guys don’t know that.”

“I wanted to be Dana Scully so bad,” Bishop confessed. “Then I bombed science.”

“So you became one of The Lone Gunman,” Tim praised. “Good for you.”

“Is any of this English?” Gibbs asked. “More importantly, is any of this relevant?”

“Right, right. Sorry, Boss.” McGee turned his attention back to the screen. “Phillips was using his access to capture night photography off the ship when they were out of dock, of what he thought was evidence of UFOs.” He clicked the remote to scroll through some pictures. Everyone leaned in closer.

Gibbs squinted and felt a pair of glasses put into his hands. Putting the black rims on his face, he still had to ask, “What am I lookin’ at?”

“The dark,” Torres said. “It’s the dark.”

“No,” Bishop said, her nose 2 inches from the monitor. “I think that’s a white light. Right there?”

Everyone but Gibbs squeezed in closer and debated whether it was a light, a speck on the lens or something else. It was Jack who finally leaned back, her eyes strained from the effort. Glancing around, she asked, “Where did he go?” The trio turned their attention to their missing boss. “Damn it,” she whispered, “he’s got my glasses.”

…..

“Reese’s Pieces?” Kasie asked, holding out the bag. Gibbs accepted the offer with an outstretched hand and a raised eyebrow. “C’mon, Gibbs. _E.T_? The extra-terrestrial? Movie in the 80s? Wow, okay, so remind me to give Agent Sloane a list of movies you have _got_ to see.”

He played innocent. “Got somethin’?”

Not at all fooled by the act, she hummed a “Mmmm-hmmm,” then guided him to the nearby table. “In fact, I do. Victim was found naked, right? Then how did these fibres get burned into his skin?” She held up a small evidence bag. He squinted, and she reached up to his head. “Here, why don’t you use these pretty glasses you got goin’ on up there?” 

He didn’t bother to straighten them or to elaborate on how exactly they got up there. “Cotton?”

“Oh, look who’s the textile master? Yep, 100 percent cotton, probably a T-shirt. So the question is-?”

“Are these peanut butter?” he asked, stealing another handful of candy before leaving with a thankful nod.

“Not the question I was thinking of, but yes!” she shouted after him.

…..

“Let’s hear it,” he said as he returned to the bullpen. 

“Tracked down his last few days,” Tim immediately began. “Nothing out of the ordinary- dinner with friends on Monday, a movie Tuesday night, 4 coffee runs on Wednesday.”

“And how about, you know, not on Earth?” Torres asked, barely hiding his smirk. “Couple of trips to Mars? A date on Venus?”

Gibbs nipped the teasing in the bud with a stern, “Banking? Online use?”

“Oh, there’s a ton of that,” Bishop answered. “In fact, when he wasn’t out of the house, all of his time seemed to be online. Research, writing, filming and editing the YouTube channel.”

“So what were he and his friend doin’ out in the middle of Derry’s Field at 3 in the morning?”

Tim picked up the thread. “We didn’t find anything out of the ordinary for Freddie Blakemore, either. Just a variation of what Brady Phillips was doing.”

Gibbs held out his hands. “Enemies? Motive?”

Nick contemplated the thought. “We’d follow the money, but there’s no money to follow.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Bishop said. “Monetizing a YouTube account can get you some big bucks.”

Nick scoffed. “How big are we talking about here?”

“The top YouTube earner last year made $26 million,” she told him. “He’s eight.”

“What??”

Again, Gibbs held out his hands to stop the train from getting derailed. “Does that apply to these guys?”

“No,” Tim replied. “Unfortunately, they hadn’t gone down that road yet.”

“A million subscribers and they weren’t making a dime?” Bishop mused. “Maybe they were thinking about it and someone else didn’t like it?”

Tim nodded. “Someone who was already making money and worried about the competition. Like our friend in Interrogation.”

“Wait, what?” Bishop said. “What friend?”

“McGee, Bishop, go check Phillips apartment. See if there’s anything that can tie his murder to anyone other than little green men. Torres, there’s someone in Interrogation who wants to talk to you. See if you can get any names out of him that might’ve wanted Phillips dead.”

“Me?” Torres repeated, but instead of answering, Gibbs shooed him off with a look.

“You, too,” he said to Tim and Bishop. “Leave me your notes on Blakemore.”

…..

“Ooh, the kids are going to talk,” she said when he stepped into her office. 

“Bringin’ your glasses back,” he replied, as if that was reason enough to dispel any office gossip.

She grinned at the attempt that fooled no one. “Yeah, okay.”

“I can leave any time.”

Quickly standing, she jogged to the door and tugged at his arm. “Get back in here.” With a gentle pull, she brought him to the couch. “So what brings you by besides a chance to look at my legs?” She scrunched up her nose when he wasn’t quick enough to hide his surprise at her accuracy. “Please. I saw the way your eyes went to the skirt this morning when I couldn’t decide what to wear.”

“Just tryin’ to move you along before nightfall.”

“Uh-huh.” She kicked off her heels and sat with the objects of his attention tucked under her. “You can look later. How’s the case coming along?”

He sat in a chair across from her to avoid a repeat of the temptation she offered at his desk, even if his brain tingled at the thought. There was never a time from the moment he had met her that she didn’t make his body hum and fingers twitch, and while a _hallelujah!_ kiss against his boat 2 months ago had given him every excuse in the world to touch her (an invitation he had accepted many, many times in those 60 days), it made keeping a distance at work harder than it had been before, now that he knew what she felt like under his hands, how she sounded against his ear, what she looked like in his shirts. 

“Later,” she repeated, the wink both infuriating and tempting.

He leaned back in his chair, legs splayed. “Got McGee and Bishop checkin’ the victim’s apartment and Torres questioning some alien YouTube guy in Interrogation.”

“So what’s your take on it?” He lifted a hand then dropped it. She tried a different tact. “You never thought about what could be up there?” Her eyes flicked up then back to him. “I mean, the universe is a pretty big place; there’s gotta be something more to this than us, doesn’t there?”

“Not sure I could handle much more.”

She gave a slow nod in agreement. “I hear ya, believe me. But for some people, it’s curiosity. And others, it’s a way of not feeling so alone. It’s nice to think we’re all part of a larger picture.”

“Everyone gets lonely, Jack. Doesn’t mean we all gotta look up to the skies.”

“No, but not everyone has bourbon, a boat and a beautiful psychologist.”

The way she stressed ‘beautiful’ made him chuckle.

He conceded with a shrug. “You believe in aliens? Government conspiracies?”

“Maybe not the first one,” she agreed, “but we both work for the government. We know what they’re capable of.”

“Sure. But we also know what they’re _not_ capable of- keepin’ secrets.”

Now it was her turn to concede, lifting an easy shoulder. “You know who else can’t keep a secret? The office.” He frowned his confusion and she said, “You kissed me in the middle of the bullpen this morning.”

“I don’t remember that.”

The pen she launched from the couch bounced off his chest. “I’m just saying, if you wanted to keep this -us- under wraps, well, the wraps have been yanked away.”

“Did you want to keep it under wraps, Jack?”

“Sweetheart, if you want to yell it from the rooftops, I’ll get a megaphone. I just wanted to make sure you understood the ramifications of staking your claim in front of three very interested parties.”

“If I wanted to stake my claim, they’d know about it.”

“Oooh, Cowboy, you should’ve closed the door if you planned on talking like that.” She slipped her shoes back on and went back to her desk, but not before drawing her fingers through his hair, her own claim-staking. “So what’s the next step? With the case.”

A long sigh escaped him as he stood. “Gonna talk to the friend again. See if his memory’s gotten any better.”

“Want company?”

“Won’t ever say ‘no’, Sloane.”

“You just like watching me walk ahead of you.”

His grin said all he didn’t need to say aloud.

…..

“Wow,” Jack whispered.

They had been allowed into Blakemore’s house, a small 2-storey affair that appeared to be covered entirely by alien paraphernalia, from newspaper clippings to books to models to toys. A 4-foot grey alien mannequin with large black eyes stared out from the corner. 

“Wow,” she said again.

Blakemore gestured them into the living room. Clearing some space on the couch for them to sit, he took the chair. 

“Sorry. I should’ve offered you a drink.”

“No, it’s fine,” she assured him. “This is incredible. How long have you been collecting?”

“It’s not a collection,” he scoffed. “This is years of research.”

She slowly nodded at the correction. “Okay. How long have you been researching?”

Mildly appeased by her apologetic tone, he said, “Since I was a teen. About 15 years.”

“That sounds like one heck of a commitment,” she praised. “What else is it that you do?”

“I work for the Danaher Corporation. Tech support. I mean, I did. Until about a month ago.”

She sympathized with a soft murmur. “Downsizing?” 

“Yeah.” He shifted in his seat. “Does he talk?”

Glancing over to Gibbs, she smiled, “I know it’s going to be hard to believe, but sometimes I can’t get him to shut up.” Rather than answering the question directly, she asked, “So I know you’ve already gone through this with Agents Torres and Bishop, but I was hoping maybe, now that some time has passed, maybe you remember more of what happened?”

Blakemore tucked his hands under his arms and shook his head. “I told your agents. Me and Brady got a tip there was some activity out at Derry’s Field. We got there and before we could set up our cameras, there’s a bright light in the sky. I put my hand up to block my eyes and the next thing I remember, I’m waking up in the field. And Brady-” He swallowed hard. “Brady’s just laying there, not moving. I went- I went up to him and he was dead.”

Jack hummed. “I see. Was he naked?”

“Yeah.”

“But you weren’t.”

He frowned. “No.”

“I see,” she said again, but didn’t elaborate. “And you and Brady- did you go together or separately?”

“Separately.”

“Hmmm. But the rest you do together? I mean, all this.” She waved around the room. “The research. The YouTube channel.”

“You know it?”

“Of course,” she replied. “‘I Want 2 Believe’. It’s from The X-Files. Who doesn’t know that?” To Gibbs’ credit, he remained silent. “You two never thought about monetizing it? Especially with Danaher downsizing?”

“We- we talked about it.”

She nodded. “Okay. Well, I think we’re done here. Unless you have any questions, Agent Gibbs?”

“You get that burn on your hand from blocking the light?”

Blakemore held out his hands. The right one had a clear burn on the outside edge that curled into the palm. “I- I guess?”

“Okay. Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Blakemore. If you remember anything else, be sure to let us know.” She handed him a card and ushered Gibbs out the door. It wasn’t until they were alone in the car that she said, “You were quiet. More than usual.”

He took the jibe in stride. “You did good. Didn’t need me buttin’ in. Besides, figured he was more open to talkin’ to a woman.” His eyes on the apartment, he asked, “Whattya think?”

“I think he didn’t ask about the crop circle, which, considering the lack of a void under their bodies, meant it was complete before whatever happened to them. You’d think an alien researcher would be kinda excited about it. What do you think?”

He turned the ignition and shifted the car into ‘drive’. “I think I need another coffee.”

…..

“My new best friend gave up some names of people who might have benefitted from having Phillips and Blakemore out of the picture,” Nick said as Gibbs and Jack stepped off the elevator. “I’ve tracked down most of them, except for a couple of brothers who are apparently ‘off the grid’.”

The term made Bishop's ears perk up. “Off the grid? They have a YouTube account?”

“Yeah,” Nick replied. “‘My Investigative Blog’.”

“‘MIB’,” Tim said. “Guess that’s not bad when ‘I Want 2 Believe’ is taken.”

“MIB- ‘Men in Black’,” Jack patiently explained to an impatient Gibbs. “They’re reported to be government officials who visit anyone who might be getting too close to the truth about aliens. They dress in black suits and sunglasses and drive around in black cars. Hence the name.”

He turned a slow look towards Ellie, who was nodding and smiling at her monitor. “Bishop?”

“Two seconds.” She jabbed a victorious finger at the computer. “Ha! ‘Off the grid’.” She blew a derisive snort between her lips. “Get back to me when you don’t have the NSA database, losers.” Scribbling down the information, she ripped the sheet from the pad and handed it to Nick. She must have seen the amusement from her co-workers, because she shrugged. “I take it personally when someone thinks ‘off the grid’ means hiding behind a VPN blocker.”

“And what did you two find at Phillips place?” Gibbs asked.

“Oh, I'm not sure you'll believe it, Boss,” Tim replied.

"Oh, I bet we will!" Jack replied, eyes wide at the memory.

Tim grinned. "Lots of stuff."

“Lots and lots of stuff,” Bishop agreed.

“Unfortunately, nothing that looks helpful. Blakemore remember anything?”

Jack shook her head. “Bright light, then waking up.”

Nick frowned. “He say why his buddy was naked but he wasn’t?”

“Nope.”

“So we’re back at the start again.”

Gibbs waved off Nick’s frustration. “We come back at it tomorrow. Find those brothers. Figure out what the murder weapon is. Go from there.”

His three agents looked at each other, each pausing at the words. Slowly gathering her things as if a sudden movement might make him change his mind, Bishop inched around her desk and whispered, “Thanks, Jack,” before darting for the elevator. Nick and Tim quickly -and silently- followed suit.

Watching them leave, Gibbs said, “Why’d she thank you? I’m the one who let ‘em go.”

She turned into his side and stroked down his lapel. “That kiss you don’t remember? I’m pretty sure your agents think I’ve performed some kind of miracle. Oh, don’t frown, Cowboy, it hides those beautiful blue eyes,” she pouted, tapped his cheek. “Give me a minute to grab my things? I’ll go up the stairs slowly.”

As promised, her ascension was leisurely and slow, as was his admiring gaze. It was only when she was out of sight that he realized how easily she had lured him in. And how it didn’t bother him nearly as much as he thought it should.

…..

To his dismay, she kicked off her heels the minute they had stepped inside his house, though she quickly made up for it by pulling him against her, pinning herself between him and the door. She caught whatever quip was on the tip of his tongue by nipping it between her teeth and he relented, relaxing his body against hers, finding a reason to enjoy the extra height advantage. Both hands went to curl around her waist but she lifted her left leg and guided his hand under her thigh.

Not that he was one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he couldn’t help but pull back ever so slightly and offer an inquisitive eyebrow and a sly smirk.

“Just helping you stake your claim, Cowboy.” 

His mouth went down to press against the vibrations that came up her throat with her laugh. He knew he was going to leave a mark, but if she wanted him to make a statement, she was damn well going to get one.

“Mmmm, not that you needed help.” Her fingers gripped as much of his short hair she could manage and pulled his mouth to hers. The moan that sent a shot of heat to his gut barely covered the rumble that came from hers and he felt the smile under his lips. Dropping smaller, chaster kisses on his mouth, she slowed the pace and her heart. “I think my stomach misunderstood the word ‘stake’.” It grumbled again and he laughed.

“Go and change,” he told her, reluctantly setting her foot to the floor. “I’ll get ‘em goin’.”

With a final kiss, she lightly jogged up the stairs. “Quit lookin’ and get cookin’!”

…..

“What?” she asked facetiously when she came into the kitchen in a pair of sweats and one of his USMC shirts. “It’s what you were thinking about in my office today, wasn’t it?” He pretended to tend to the salad rather than give the answer they both already knew. She let him off the hook with a kiss on his cheek. “Salad? Wow. Next thing you know, you’re going to ask me to move in.” She grabbed a tomato and rummaged through the cutlery drawer for a knife. When she realized he hadn’t joined in her amusement, she gave him a soft hip check. “I didn’t say that to put you on the spot.”

“You didn’t.”

“Good.” 

They cut vegetables in silence for a minute before he casually said, “You can. If ya want.”

She almost asked him what he meant, but the way he kept his eyes on the task suddenly told her everything. He mistook her surprised silence for hesitation, and after scooping cucumber into the bowl, he made a motion to step around her and his bruised ego when she put the tip of her knife against his breast bone. Forced to stop, he knew he couldn’t wait out her stare, so he tore off the band-aid and looked at her. He expected awkwardness. What he got was heat in brown eyes that melted them into caramel. Leaning closer, she swayed towards his mouth, even as the knife point pressed a little harder. 

“Did you buy that Italian dressing I like?” she whispered against his lips.

Careful not to move the wrong way, he nodded. “Yep.”

She tapped the knife on the flannel’s button. “Good. So it’s settled then,” she said before putting down the knife and letting him know exactly what ‘it’ was by kissing him soundly. 

“I better start hiding the sharp objects,” he said, pinning her against the counter and returning the kiss with equal fervor.

…..

“‘Equilibrium’,” she suggested against his shoulder. 

“I thought you were watchin’ the game.” He counted the squares in the crossword and printed in the letters. They had settled on the couch after dinner, and she had moved towards him in incriminant shuffles across 7 innings until she moulded into his hip.

“I am.” The drowsiness in her voice said otherwise. “You’re comfy.” His chuckle only made her curl in closer. “‘Braille’. Eight down.”

“You wanna do this?” he asked, holding up the newspaper.

“No. I like watching you do it.” She punctuated it with another snuggle. “I like _you_.”

When her arm tried to wrap around his waist, he tossed the pen and paper onto the table and draped his arm around her shoulder, tucking her into his side. The move got him a murmur of approval. 

“I’ll help you finish it in the morning,” she promised.

“I thought you liked watching _me_ do it,” he groused, even as he shifted lower to make her more comfortable. His complaint got no reply and he was just starting to focus on the bottom of the ninth inning when a mumble reached his ears.

“Three months. My lease is up in 3 months.”

She said nothing more, drifting back to sleep, and it wasn’t the Nationals scoring a walk-off home run that brought the grin to his face.

…..

“Don’t pout,” she said, slipping into her pants. “Yesterday’s skirt is all I have and boy, if you _want_ people talking, I’ll wear it two days in a row.”

“What I _want_ is for you to figure out what it’s gonna take to break your lease.” He said it as he threw on the sweater over the T-shirt, casual and off-hand.

Her fingers paused at the middle button of her blouse. It had only been 24 hours between kissing her in the office and asking her to move in, and had it been any other man in any other situation, it might have raised some flags, but looking at the blue-eyed ex-Marine standing across from her, it seemed like forever had gone by.

“You just want to make sure all my skirts are here.”

He appreciated how she refused to make a big deal out of the biggest decision he had made in years. Still maintaining his gruff exterior, he said, “Figure it out. Let me know.”

“Pretty sure I could just send you over there with ‘The Look’, but I’ll see what my landlord says.” Stepping towards him, she drew her hands down his chest to his belt. She all but purred at the garment. “You know, your sweaters are like my skirts,” she said, swaying into him. 

“Why do you think I wear them?”

His smirk drew her eyes to his mouth. “Why do you think I buy them?”

“The sweaters or the skirts?”

She playfully yanked his belt loop and nipped his bottom lip. “Let’s go catch some bad guys.”

…..

“Tell me we got the brothers,” Gibbs said, striding off the elevator with Jack by his side.

“We got the brothers,” Tim said.

The reply was so quick, he stopped. “You separate ‘em?”

“Of course,” McGee answered. “Rule 1.”

Gibbs nodded his approval. “They say anything when you brought them in?”

“Only that they knew their rights and they weren’t talking to any government agent and that we could torture them all we wanted and they still wouldn't talk, blah blah blah.” Nick rolled his eyes. “Can we try the torture part?”

Gibbs paused, glanced at Jack and said, “I got a better idea. Bishop, you got a visitor pass?”

She opened her desk drawer. “Yeah.” She handed it to him and waited to see what would come next. 

He pinned it to Jack’s suit jacket pocket, but turned the badge around so the blank back showed. With a nimbleness that made her mouth twitch, he buttoned her blouse all the way to the top, then patted down the collar.

“I get it,” she said. Smiling, she reached into his pocket, pulled out his sunglasses and slipped them onto his face. “It’s not a black suit, but it’ll do. Give me a few minutes to dig up a few things.”

Torres grinned. “Oh, this is gonna be fun!”

…..

Lonnie Marleau held up his hands the second Gibbs entered the interrogation room. “I’m not saying anything, so you might as well try the mind control.” When he got no reply, he smirked, “Yeah, okay. You pretending to be MiB? The suit’s wrong.” Again, Gibbs gave no reply, choosing instead to stand in the corner, feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped casually in front. Marleau seemed to run out of steam at the lack of rebuttal, so he sat back onto his chair. It wobbled back and forth and he tried one last volley. “Can’t the government afford even chairs?”

Jack pushed the door open and Gibbs was glad to have sunglasses dark enough to hide his reaction. He had left her with her buttons up and badge on, but she had taken the time to pull her hair back into a bun and don her glasses. Wordlessly, she gestured to the camera with her eyes, and he took the cue to reach up and unplug the wire. She gave thanks with a severe nod and handed him a pair of disposable gloves she likely got from Autopsy.

“You may need those,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. She then pulled her chair back, purposely making its squeak loud enough to fill the room. Placing the file on the table, she gracefully tucked the chair in closer and adjusted her glasses. 

The fact she had yet to acknowledge Marleau made him blurt out, “Where’s my brother?”

She looked up, almost bored. “Who?”

“My brother. Vince. You lockstepped the two of us into your van and brought us here.”

“It was an SUV,” Tim whispered from behind the mirror.

Jack lazily flipped open the folder. “I don’t see a brother referenced here. According to this, you’re an only child. You sure you came in with one?” She leaned forward, arms folded across the file, and in a tone that sounded sweet while being anything but, said, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not leaving with one.”

The unseen audience high-fived each other at her steely portrayal.

“I don’t know if I’m terrified or turned on,” Nick admitted.

“Well, if you’re the latter, I wouldn’t tell Gibbs,” Bishop advised. 

Marleau’s eyes flickered back and forth as his bravado seeped away. “We had nothing to do with Brady Phillips’ murder.”

“How do you know it was murder?”

He laughed, though without nearly the same strength he had earlier. “You really think it was aliens? Come on. I don’t know how much you know about us-” He was stopped by her stare and a tap on the folder. “I mean, you know we’re debunkers. We don’t believe in any of that stuff. Except the government stuff. _That’s_ totally real.” He glanced at Gibbs. “No offence.”

“So if it wasn’t aliens, what was it?” she asked.

He held out his hands. “You should ask his partner, Freddie Blakemore. Look, we never caught him doing it, but we’ve known for a long time that Freddie’s been faking some of the ‘evidence’ they’ve been putting up on their channel.”

“Just Freddie?”

“Yeah. As crazy as the theories were, at least Brady was honest about the whole thing. He really thought there was something more. Up there.”

“Did he know Freddie was faking some of it?”

Marleau shrugged. “Dunno. But he wasn’t a stupid guy. I’d be surprised if he didn’t figure it out. I mean, we made no secret on our blog that we suspected half the evidence wasn’t real.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” she asked, before standing, closing the file and making her way to the door.

“Hey!” he stammered, his voice thin with nervousness. “You’re kidding, right?

“If we need anything more, we’ll find you.” Her parting words were a thanks, a promise and a threat, all rolled into one.

The door closed behind her and Marleau glanced at Gibbs, who hadn’t moved the entire time. When he did finally make a motion toward the table, Marleau let out a high-pitched squeak.

Bishop leaned closer to the mirror. “Did he just pee himself?”

…..

“I sent Torres and Bishop to go pick up Mr. Blakemore,” Tim informed Gibbs when he stepped out of the room. “Figured I’d give Lonnie Marleau a 10 minute head start before I tell his brother he can go, too.”

“Lonnie’s probably halfway to the west coast by now,” Jack said.

Tim grinned. “Remind me never to be on the receiving end of your interrogation.” To Gibbs, he said, “I’ll go let Vince loose, unless you needed anything else, Boss?”

“No. I’m gonna visit Kasie, see if she’s found anything.” Tim nodded and was halfway down the hall when Gibbs called out, “Run over to Blakemore’s place again and wait for my call. I’ve got a feelin’ we’re gonna be lookin’ for a murder weapon.”

Alone in the hallway, Gibbs cast his gaze over Jack, a slow perusal that started from the top to the bottom and back to the top again. Playing along, she unbuttoned the too-tight collar and hooked her glasses in the ‘V’, then reached back to let her hair shake loose. It was only when he arched an eyebrow that she broke character and burst out laughing. 

“You’re incorrigible!” she accused, pushing against his chest. “Go see Kasie while I figure out an appropriate punishment for your unprofessionalism.”

Grinning, he stopped at the end of the hall, tapped the wall and asked, “What’s your landlord’s name?”

She waved him away with wiggling fingers. “Go!”

…..

“I don’t know if I should be impressed or freaked out at how you know exactly when to visit,” Kasie greeted when he arrived in her doorway.

“If you can’t decide, it keeps things fresh,” he offered. “Whattya got?”

“Well,” she said, holding out her arms to the long table. “I dug up a lot of dirt on our murder.” She looked at Gibbs, then the big chunk of ground on the table, then at Gibbs. “Ah? See what I did there? A lot of dirt on- Okay, so anyway,” she continued, recognizing it as a lost cause, “I had the crime scene guys excavate a 3 by 3 section of what some people are thinking is a cropped circle.”

It was the first time she had given any indication which way she might lean on the matter, and it caught his attention. 

“Some people. But not you.”

“Listen, I am not naive enough to think we’re the only life form in the entire universe. Do I think there’s alien life somewhere out there? Sure. Do I think they’ve got nothing better to do than swing their saucers down to Earth and flatten some tall grass? Please. Even if they did make it here, I’m pretty sure they’d take one look and be all, ‘See ya!’. Anyway-” He let her off the hook with a grin. “I examined these marks along the blades of grass. Based on the degradation? They’re burn marks. And get this-” She turned to the computer and brought it to life with a click. “I programmed the parameters of the marks in the grass and imposed them over the burn marks on our victim.”

The slides came together as one.

“They match.”

“Yep. Want to see my second trick? Of course, you do.” Another slide appeared on the large monitor. “Matching up tire tracks at a crime scene can be a huge pain in the behind, with everyone coming and going, but Derry’s Field has a secondary road that’s closed off to everyone but the caretaker of the area.”

“But you found a track that doesn’t match the caretaker’s vehicle.”

“Brains and brawn and blue eyes. I see why Agent Sloane’s sweet on you.” He blinked at her, slow and even, and she swallowed hard. “Okay! So, the point is, I was able to make a match to someone’s vehicle. Want to guess that one?”

“Freddie Blakemore.”

“C’mon, Gibbs! Can you at least pretend, just one time?”

He shuffled his stance and took a deep breath. “Who did you match it to, Kasie?”

“I’m glad you asked! Though I’m surprised you couldn’t guess it yourself.” She ignored his glare. “The victim’s friend, Freddie Blakemore. But what’s really important is, I found tracks going in, then coming out, then going in again.”

Gibbs narrowed his eyes as he unclipped his phone. “So he went to the field, left, and came back again.”

“Like I said, I see why she’s sweet on you!”

“McGee,” he barked into the phone as he strode to the elevator, but not before turning and mouthing a ‘thank you’ to a surprised forensic scientist.

…..

The object hit the table with a loud bang in the quiet interrogation room. Gibbs turned to McGee while pretending to ignore a sullen Freddie Blakemore.

“Agent McGee,” he said, “I can’t figure this thing out.”

“Well, Agent Gibbs,” Tim played along, “it’s some kind of homemade device that generates heat. See these coils at the bottom?”

He squinted. “Yeah, I see them. So what do they do?”

Tim pointed to the handle. “By turning it on there, the coils light up.”

“Like a stove.”

“More like an iron,” McGee corrected. 

“To flatten things?”

“Exactly.”

“Oh man,” Torres said in the observation room. “This is like that time I tried to lie to my father about using the car. This is not going to end well, _especially_ if Gibbs touches his belt.”

Back in Interrogation, Gibbs squinted closer at the coils. “What’s this here? Looks like cloth?”

“Funny you should ask, because our forensic scientist found all sorts of things burned into the coils. Grass that she traced back to Derry’s Field, and some cotton that matched a shirt we found at a suspect’s apartment.”

Gibbs turned all his attention to Blakemore. “You wanna guess whose place, Freddie?” Before he could reply, Gibbs went on. “So here’s what I think. I think you went out to Derry’s Field to stage a hoax, but somehow, Brady Phillips found out. He went out to the field to stop you, you two get into it, some arguing, some pushing and shoving, maybe even a punch thrown. But you didn’t know about his heart condition, did you? His aorta explodes in his chest, but you don’t know what happened. Did you push him down then panic?” A glance at Tim prompted him to lay out the photos from the crime scene. “So you stage it like an abduction. An alien abduction.” His voice rose in disbelief. “But when you burned him, what? It didn’t look real enough to you? So you stripped him naked, threw his clothes and this thing in your car.” He gestured to the homemade device. “Then you went home. What I can’t figure out is, why’d you go back?”

Blakemore spoke for the first time. “I dropped my phone.”

Gibbs nodded, but it was Tim who picked up the trail. “But you were worried you might get caught out there, so you decided to give yourself the same burns, just in case someone discovered you before you made it back home. But you couldn’t drive out there with clothes on then hide the clothes. So you just burned over your T-shirt, and drove back to the field.”

“That’s what this is, isn’t it?” Gibbs grabbed Blakemore’s wrist and held up the burned hand. “You had to hold the coils towards you, but the weight forced you to hold it too close to the base.”

“He was going to tell everyone we were fake!” Blakemore yelled, yanking his hand away from Gibbs’. “I had just convinced him to monetize; told him the money we made would go towards better equipment, better research. Exposing us would’ve cost us millions.”

“What’d I say?” Nick crowed behind the mirror. “Follow the money, baby!”

Everyone fell silent, including Gibbs and McGee, until finally, Gibbs collected the photos, slid them into the folder and exited the room. Tim sat for a minute longer, a melancholy falling over him. 

“Did you ever believe?” he asked.

Blakemore didn’t reply.

…..

“I feel bad for Tim,” she said, leaning against the counter while the microwave hummed. 

Gibbs angled into the couch, her glasses perched on his nose. “Just because they weren’t real this time doesn’t mean there’s nothing up there.”

“Aww, do you really believe that?”

“Nope.”

The microwave chimed, saving him from a retort. She poured the popcorn into a bowl, sprinkled it liberally with salt, and popped one into her mouth. 

“I saw that.”

She stuck out her tongue. “You saw nothing. Though you might, if you used your _own_ glasses, _which are on top of your head_.” She plopped down beside him and looked over his arm. “‘Aviation’. 22 across.”

He reached up to find, sure enough, his glasses. Giving up on the idea of ever finishing the crossword on his own, he tossed both sets of glasses on the table, along with the paper and the pen. She took this as her cue.

“Okay,” she said, bouncing over to the TV. “I put it to an office vote, and this is the movie that won, narrowly beating ‘Alien’.” He grumbled, but she was having none of it. “You’ll like this one. It’s got an enemy and fighting and a _lot_ of American jingoism. It’s mostly the Air Force that saves the day, but we’ll ignore that. It’s fiction, after all.” He snorted his agreement. “I can’t believe you haven’t seen this movie! Of course,” she said, kneeling, “I can’t believe you have a Blu-Ray player.” The disc whirled and she stood, hand over her heart. “ _Perhaps it's fate that today is the Fourth of July, and you will once again be fighting for our freedom. Not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution… but from annihilation. We're fighting for our right to live. To exist. And should we win the day, the Fourth of July will no longer be known as an American holiday, but as the day when the world declared in one voice: We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive! Today we celebrate_ our _Independence Day!_ ” The beer bottle paused at his lips. “I may have seen it once or twenty times.” She turned off the lamp and snuggled into his side, plopping the popcorn bowl in his lap.

“This what I’ve got to look forward to when you move in?” A kiss against her hair softened his accusation.

“Yeah, probably,” she good-naturedly admitted.

“Guess it’s too late now anyway,” he said, stuffing his mouth with popcorn.

Shifting to look at him, she asked, “What do you mean?” 

He shrugged. “Talked to your landlord today. Gave him The Look. Played out just like you said.”

He had said it so casually that it took her a moment to decipher the words. “You did not. It did not.”

“Shhhh,” he told her, his eyes fixated on the TV even as a smirk lifted his cheek. “Movie’s about to start.”

…..

-end


End file.
